La Fille En Rouge
by Winter Skye
Summary: The harsh reality of a new life spawned from death. WA Branching Out Challenge.


Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.

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Where does life end and death begin?

In that moment between sleep and wakefulness, what is the trigger that says _I am_?

Eyes closed, do you know where you are, who you are, what you are?

In that moment, as your eyelids flutter, do you know the comfort of your bed? As the darkness gives way to light, do you see the world about you? Do you understand it, welcome it, embrace it?

In that moment, are you cold or hot? In that moment, are you dry with fatigue, or damp with sweat? Do you sense the aches in your body, the stiffness in your heart, the pain in your skull?

In that moment, do you know what caused the thud in the dark?

Do you question your blurred vision, the spasm in your neck, the lack of weight to your head? Do you question the thunder ringing in your ears?

Do you question the bright, unsmiling face looking down on you? Do you question the outstretched hand, the grim determination, the tears falling on your pillow? Do you recognise your daughter? Are you filled with hope? With pride? With joy?

Eyes wide open, do you see her shiver?

Do you see her body tremble? Do you see her arms shake? Do you see the shock etched in the creases on her forehead, the horror in her gaze? Do you hear the scream caught in her throat, the tragic sob quivering on her lips?

Do you wonder as she brushes your hair from your cheek? Does the warmth in her fingers calm you? Does the soft caress lift you? And as she sits beside you, as she leans toward you, to kiss you, do you wonder why you cannot rise to meet her?

Wide open, do you see the despair in her eyes?

Are you crushed by the weight of her body leaning on yours? Are you held by the strength in her hands gripping your shoulders? Can you read the silent words on her lips? Do you love her, too?

Do you notice the hesitation as her mouth brushes yours? Do you notice the spark, the tingle of anticipation, the passion, the force driving her?

Do you feel the heat of her breath? Do you see the saliva on her tongue, or the foam on her lips? Do you smell the stale cocktail of alcohol and barbiturates? Or does she?

Will she kiss you with affection?

Do you cherish the life that you gave her? In all that she is and all that she does, do you trust her? Do you look upon her now and see a grown woman, or a small, helpless child? Do you remember her birthday? Or, how could you forget?

Will she kiss you with joy?

Do you care that she ripped you apart? Do you care that she was torn from you? Do you care that she was born in pain, and bears it still? Do you care that _he_ didn't?

Do you believe in what you gave her? Do you know that you did your best for her? Did you stand by her? With her? Did you hold her, hug her? Did you celebrate with her in happiness, and comfort her in grief?

You do know that she loves you?

In that moment of waking, did you see all this?

In that moment of waking, did you hear the creak of a handle, or hear the door close? In that moment, did you hear the shuffle of footsteps, or the swish of a nightdress?

When your head left the pillow, did you not wonder why? Was the stiffness in your body, and the ache in your heart?

Did you hear the scrape of metal on leather? Did you hear a sharp click? Did you see the bright flash, or fear the dark thunder? Did you hear a soft sigh?

When your eyes opened, just what did you see?

The smile on her lips, the look of pure hate? Malice aforethought, undisguised pleasure, hastily replaced? Did you see the confuion, the fear on face? The strangled laugh in her throat which caused her to choke?

Did her touch on your cheek not start at your neck? Did she not lean across you and check for your pulse? Did her hands grab your shoulders and give them a shake?

Did you not see the irony as her lips touched yours? Her breath fresh and minty, yours putrid and stale? Her life just beginning, yours drowning in bile and hate?

Did she cherish the life that she'd taken away?

Would she kiss you at all?

Are you the mother who bore her? Or an old, empty shell? Did you chide her and punish her, and lock her away? Did you lie to her and cheat her? And just what did _he_ say?

Did you know that she loved you?

In that moment of waking, do you know what she saw?

With the muzzle so close, why wouldn't your head bounce? In that moment of shooting, why would her gun hit the floor? Why would you feel pain with the hole that it tore?

Why would your eyes open? To frighten her more?

Why did the recoil explode up her arm? What did she fear to cause her alarm? Why would she check to make sure you were dead? Your heart? Your pulse? Your cold, fetid breath?

Why would she kiss the hole in your head?

Why did you hide her and keep her away? Why did you divorce him? And what did he pay? Why did he hate her? And why couldn't he wait? Why couldn't you love him, and why did he die? What didn't you say?

Did your eyes open to see her once more?

Why are you lying there, ugly and dead? Why aren't you breathing; it's just a hole in your head?

Did she tell you she loved you? What can't she ignore?

Eyes wide open, did you awaken at all?

Why would I kiss you?

Just to make sure?

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A/N This oneshot was written for the Writers Anonymous "Branching Out" challenge. If you've got this far, you may or may not care to know that this may (or may not) be the prologue to a Rosalie Hammond fic, for it is she (which you may or may not have guessed) who has just killed her mother.


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